


Further questions

by ironicpalmtree



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Getting Back Together, Inspired by but in now way follows the storyline of suits, Laywer AU, Let's blame it on the holiday netflix binge shall we, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 06:44:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14231568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironicpalmtree/pseuds/ironicpalmtree
Summary: “What’s important is that I get this case dismissed quickly enough so I can go and grab pizza before getting back to the office.”“No. Nope. That’s not correct. What’s important is that the defendant went and got himself a new lawyer without letting us know…”Gavin’s voice fades out at Michael’s shocked expression. Although that probably has less to do with what his assistant just said and more to with the fact that Ryan Haywood is leaning casually against the defendant’s bench with a smirk on his face.----Michael Jones just wants to get on with his job of putting bad guys in jail and forget all about his stupid feelings and New York's favourite professional prick - Ryan Haywood. Unfortunately for Michael, life is pretty determined to screw him over.





	Further questions

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a thing. I feel pretty ambivalent about it but why keep a completed 12k fic on your laptop when you can share your shitty story lines with the world?
> 
> Also bonus points for what might be the worst title I've ever come up with :D :D

Michael barely gets a second to gaze lovingly into the dregs of his triple shot cappuccino before Gavin’s bumping into him from behind and spilling all of that milky goodness over the concrete steps and on his new goddamn shoes.

“Gavin, what the fuck!” He hisses, shaking his leg vigorously in an effort to get the stuff off before it stains. “Can you go ten minutes without looking like an idiot?”

He can see his assistant’s big, apologetic eyes peering out over the top of the files he’s holding, and he can hear indignant squawks filtering out from behind the tower of paper and cardboard. He rolls his eyes and whirls back around, storming up the court steps to leave Gavin floundering behind him.

“Michael wait a minute!” The Brit calls out, stumbling after the public prosecutor and stuffing the folders carelessly under his arm. “There’s something you should probably know before the hearing!”

Michael snorts as he steps inside, dropping his messenger bag and watch into one of the plastic tubs waiting by the security station. “And what exactly is that Grabby? The case is already won, close and shut, _practically a given_ is what I think you said yesterday. The magistrate is gonna dismiss this before there’s any talk about trial.”

Gavin makes a negative sounding noise while he steps through the security gate with his arms held out. “Yes, but a lot has changed since yesterday afternoon Micoo.”

Michael narrows his eyes and glances exaggeratedly around the foyer of the courthouse before fixing the Brit with a glare. “Need I remind you of our discussion surrounding calling me such names while we’re working?”

Gavin looks suitably chastised as he hurries after him, his noises getting more and more urgent as Michael strides quickly towards their designated courtroom. “Yes, of course – how could I forget – but that’s not important right now.” Michael ignores him, pushing a hand on the door and looking back before he steps inside.

“What’s important is that I get this case dismissed quickly enough so I can go and grab pizza before getting back to the office.”

“No. Nope. That’s not correct. What’s important is that the defendant went and got himself a new lawyer without letting us know…”

Gavin’s voice fades out at Michael’s shocked expression. Although that probably has less to do with what his assistant just said and more to with the fact that Ryan Haywood is leaning casually against the defendant’s bench with a smirk on his face.

Michael glances quickly towards the front to ensure the magistrate hasn’t arrived yet before he’s shoving the door back on its hinges and storming down the room.

“Why. _The Fuck_. Are you here!?” He yells, unaware that the door has swung back on Gavin and knocked all the case files from his arms. He ignores the panicked squawks in favour of putting one hundred percent effort into his _death glare from hell_ – or so Gavin calls it – that he’s currently giving the soulless bastard standing before him.

Haywood, for his part, smiles at the carpet and shoves his infuriatingly well-manicured hands into his pockets. When he looks up, his mouth is still curled up in a smirk and Michael’s heart most definitely _doesn’t_ skip a beat.

“Now, Michael…That’s no way to treat an old college _friend_.” Michael doesn’t appreciate the way his voice deepens at the end of the sentence or the way his eyes seem particularly piercing when he finally meets Michael’s glare.

Michael wants to say oh so many things; like _fuck you and your fucking perfect face_ or _I thought I told you I’d rip your balls off if I ever saw you again_. He settles with: “I asked you a god damn question.”

Ryan just grins cheekily and pulls a hand out of his pocket to run it through his perfectly slicked hair. “Well I received a call last week and I figured it an injustice that this case be dismissed before even going to trial.”

The door bangs open again and they both snap their heads towards it. The judge is currently stepping over Gavin (who is still desperately trying to retrieve all the errant papers from the floor) and shooting them both an unimpressed look.

Michael inclines his head quickly, waiting for Ryan to do the same before leaning forward and hissing in his ear. “Your presence here changes nothing, I’m still getting this case dismissed!”

Ryan grins again and mumbles a “don’t be so sure” before stepping behind his own bench.

“Alright gentleman. Can you tell me why this case is in front of me again when I’m pretty certain we had a plea bargain settled last month?”

Michael stands up and shoots Ryan a withering look before looking to the magistrate and brandishing a file (one of the ones he didn’t entrust to Gavin’s possession). “Your Honour, this is frankly a waste of your precious time.” He hears a muffled snort from beside him, but he ignores it. “Our case hasn’t changed. In fact, we have even more evidence then we did when the plea bargain was first discussed.”

He passes the file over when the bailiff comes to collect it, turning to Ryan to show him his best supercilious grin while the judge browses the folder. Ryan just rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, presenting the epitome of collectedness. The smile fades and Michael quietly seethes in his chair.

The magistrate looks up after a bored sigh and fixes Ryan with an unimpressed look. “Does the defence have anything to say about the new DNA tests Mr. Haywood?”

Ryan stands and fixes his jacket, not even sparing a glance at Michael before giving the magistrate his most disarming smile. He flourishes his own file, which the bailiff quickly snatches away. “What you will find there, your Honour, is a signed affidavit saying the jacket on which those DNA tests are based was missing for at least 36 hours before making its way to evidence lock-up.”

Michael jerks his head up at that and Ryan glances at him quickly before looking back to the magistrate. “The chain of possession has been inexplicably broken.” He puts simply, hands spread out in front of him. “The evidence is inadmissible.”

The magistrate makes an affirmative noise and Michael clenches his fists so he doesn’t say anything disrespectful.

The movement must catch Ryan’s eye, or he just knows Michael too well because he turns to give him a satisfied look before he continues.

“And…considering the original offer of plea bargain was based upon a bullshit argument that an even halfway decent defence could’ve gotten past...My client submits that this matter should continue to trial.”

The magistrate turns to look at Michael, one eyebrow raised in question. “Is there anything the prosecution would like to add?”

“Um…” Michael gets out - the evident smirk in his peripheral serving as a considerable distraction – “We – I mean the State – request an extension on this hearing…to consider…”

“To consider what?” The magistrate interjects, his minimal patience apparently run out, “It takes hardly a minute to read the affidavit which was sent to you…” He pauses to look back down at the file, “Yesterday afternoon according to this.”

Ryan nods his head in confirmation and Michael turns slowly to catch a glimpse of Gavin’s mortified face in the window. He’s mouthing something - presumably _I’m so sorry, I’ve bollocksed it all up_ – but Michael’s seen enough to turn around and shake his head in the direction of the bench.

He takes a deep breath, ensuring his voice is steady before he speaks. “No, your Honour, the prosecution has nothing else to add.” He can see Ryan leaning back in his chair and he resists the urge to throw something at him. Like his pen…or a knife.

“...Right.” The magistrate seems amused now and Michael feels about several inches closer to losing it. “I see no reason to dismiss this case. It continues to trial. Next month.”

The gavel swings downward but the resounding smack doesn’t entirely drown out Ryan’s amused chuckle.

 

*

 

“Who _the fuck_ do you think you are?” Michael ignores all the offended looks he gets as he storms down the New York street, the only look he cares about is the smarmy grin plastered all over Ryan’s stupid face. The only _thing_ he cares about is punching that grin straight _off_ Ryan’s stupid face.

Ryan’s standing by a coffee cart, two paper cups in hand while he watches Michael rage down the sidewalk. He wordlessly gives Michael one of them when the younger finally reaches him. Michael’s apparently huffed and puffed himself out by the time he reaches the cart and takes the coffee without question.

He follows Ryan when he starts walking down the street, sipping tentatively and looking up in shock when he tastes a triple shot cappuccino. Ryan laughs and takes a gulp of his own, looking down at Michael with a painfully fond expression.

“Coffee stain on your suit pants.” He says simply, shoving his free hand into his pocket, “You never used to function well without your coffee and I figured you hadn’t changed.”

In lieu of an answer, Michael takes a large sip and directs his gaze out to the familiar jolt and jerk of Midtown traffic.

“I didn’t know it was your case if that’s what you were thinking.”

Michael starts out of his reverie and almost drops his second coffee of the morning. Something in his chest loosens a little at the hapless giggles it prompts from Ryan.

“Some things never change.” He mumbles, looking at Michael through his straw-spun lashes as if he knows exactly what that does to Michael. _Used_ to do to Michael

Michael keeps his face blank even though his gut is roiling. “You really expect me to believe you didn’t know? Please Ryan, you’ve been getting a kick out of beating me down since I got into law school.”

Ryan falters in his sure stride and reaches out as though to grab Michael’s arm. He hesitates before actually touching him and his hand falls limply back to his side. “Michael.” He says softly instead, craning his neck so he can look directly into his eyes.

Michael stops, sighs and adjusts the strap of his messenger bag several times before he meets Ryan’s gaze. “What.” He spits out, folding his arms and fixing Ryan with his best unimpressed look.

The older man raises that damnable eyebrow before reaching out and circling his fingers gently around Michael’s upper arm. “I swear to you I didn’t know.”

Michael snorts and Ryan only tightens his grip. “The defendant. His father’s a client of my firm and he guaranteed us a hefty bonus if I got him a not-guilty sentencing.”

Michael drops his eyes at that, using his free hand to continue fiddling with his strap. “Sounds like your dodgy ethics are as present as ever.” He tries to wrench his arm away, but Ryan pulls him back, a steely look in his eye.

“I know you think very little of me. And you have every right to. But I wouldn’t have taken the case if I didn’t think the kid was telling the truth.”

Michael just grunts and shifts uncomfortably as the warmth of Ryan’s hold begins to bleed through his dress shirt. “Whatever.” He eventually says, stepping backwards when Ryan pulls away.

“Still as eloquent as ever.” The older man mumbles and his smile this time is soft and careworn instead of sharp and calculated. Michael grins tiredly back at him, a warmth filling him as he reaches back for Ryan’s hand.

A taxi honks its horn nearby, a phone starts to ring; the tension between them wavers and then peters out. Abruptly, Ryan straightens himself up and fixes his jacket, stepping a few paces back and out of Michael’s reach.

The warmth drains away as quickly as it came.

“I have to get back to work. Lots of clients to see, company giants to close...you know the deal.” Michael can almost see the corporate jackass mask sliding back on.

“Yeah.” He grits out, turning to dump his half-drunk coffee in the trash. “I know the deal.”

 

**

 

The smooth jazz that permeates the low buzz of party conversation grates on Michael’s nerves like nothing else. The spacious function room feels stifling; despite its floor-to-ceiling double glazed windows and ducted air-conditioning.

Michael reaches impulsively for the tie around his neck, loosening it slightly and reluctantly doing it back up again after realising how stupid he’ll look in a room full of immaculately dressed people. He swipes at the few droplets of sweat that are beading at the base of his neck and wanders back to the bar to get himself another obscure and ridiculously expensive microbrew that only the barman will be able to pronounce.

He slumps against the granite-finished bar top once a new glass has been sent his way, scanning the crowd with a petulant expression and taking dutiful sips every few moments.

Gavin’s off in the corner, catching up with a few friends he made at Columbia while getting his undergraduate degree. He can hear the booming laughter of his companions over the general din of the function and Michael figures they’re most probably poking fun at Gavin for becoming a legal assistant in the DA’s office while they’re making millions on Wall Street.

Gavin’s spluttering and squawking indignantly and Michael grimaces as he watches fragments of quiche and arancini ball spray from his mouth.

A deeper laugh catches his attention and Michael has to fight himself in order to not down his beer and walk straight over to its source. Instead, he turns his head slowly and narrows his eyes when he spies Ryan standing by a window surrounded by a group of identically dressed men.

He’s wearing charcoal tonight, coupled with a cool blue tie that brings out the sharpness of his eyes. He’s speaking casually, one hand tucked in a pocket and the other curled securely around a tumbler of diet coke.

Michael rolls his eyes at that, unable to fathom how he appears so _above it all_ while sipping sugar-deficient soda.

He thinks Ryan might catch him out of the corner of his eye, because he falters in his conversation for a moment and reaches up to sweep his thumb along the perfect swoop of his hair (something Michael knows he only does when he gets flustered).

The brief instance of uncertainty is wiped away quickly as he makes some sort of smart-ass quip that causes his audience tip their heads back and roar with laughter.

Ryan does actually catch Michael’s eye this time, his mouth twitching up in an almost-smirk as he sends a wink his way. Michael manages to look stonily back while his stomach undergoes a fluttering feeling that’s reminiscent of his teenage years and his mind freezes up with indecision.

What does a wink like that mean? Was it meant to be an invitation to walk over there and introduce himself, or was it merely Ryan’s acknowledgement that he looks like an absolute jackass while he schmoozes with New York’s elite?

Michael hasn’t made the best decisions recently (see: hiring Gavin, drinking two gallons of milk for a bet and/or the _taser incident_ ) so it doesn’t surprise him when he finds himself pushing off the bar and shuffling awkwardly over to the small crowd by the window.

The look of exasperation on Ryan’s face tells Michael he’s once again made the wrong choice and that Ryan meant for their ‘relationship’ (shared history, long series of fuck-ups…whatever you wanted to call it) to be acknowledged from afar tonight.

All six of the men he’s unwittingly presented himself to are looking him up and down with a level of disdain that’s beginning to make Michael’s skin crawl. Their beady eyes linger on the untailored sags and creases of his suit and they widen with horror when they spot plastic buttons rather than cuff-links peeking out from the beneath the heavy fabric of his jacket. Michael fixes his eyes on the floor, wincing slightly when he spots the scuff marks at the edges of his loafers.

“Ah, Haywood. A friend of yours?” One of the men inclines his head in Ryan’s direction, flat lips pressed into a half-amused smirk as the group attempt to hold in a collective chuckle.

Ryan hesitates for a half a second and takes a small breath that no one but Michael would notice. He knows what’s going through the other man’s mind; realises with a sinking feeling that he’s weighing up which party is worth more to him at the present time and who is more expedient to please.

Michael closes his eyes, willing his shoulders not to slump any further as he guesses Ryan’s conclusion at the same time the other man decides upon it.

Ryan straightens up and takes a short sip of his coke before giving Michael an exaggerated once-over. “Not really.” He says airily, gesturing a hand at Michael’s suit as if that’s an explanation in and of itself. “Public prosecutor. Butted heads with him a few weeks back over Jim Oxley’s case.”

The sneers of their audience deepen as their eyes flicker between them. Michael distances himself slightly, well aware that his hundred dollar department store outfit is going to look like used rags against the sharp lines and deep colours of Ryan’s five thousand dollar Tom Ford.

Michael can feel the tips of his ears burning and realises with a rising sense of humiliation that his cheeks are probably flushed bright red too. He raises his head in attempt to salvage whatever small amount of dignity he has left and looks Ryan dead in the eye.

“No, not friends and unfortunately not even court opponents anymore.” Ryan’s brow furrows slightly at that and Michael can’t help but smirk at the slight chip he’s made in the other’s composure. “I came over to let you know I’ve been moved on to a more important case – one with real criminals instead of petty rich boys…you know the deal.”

He almost spits out the last part and he glares at Ryan for a moment longer than he probably should; just so he can convey how unequivocally done he is with the older man. He inclines his head at the still sniggering group of businessmen and excuses himself with a quiet “gentlemen” before melting back into the crowd.

Gavin’s finally stopped choking on hors d’oeuvres when Michael makes his way over to his corner. He’s listening with polite interest as one of his classmates regales him with a thrilling tale involving tech company shares, frankly standard stock-market patterns and the apparent bravery that is required to be a ‘Wall-Street Warrior’.

Michael can tell immediately that Gavin is fighting to keep a straight face, so he steps in quickly, introduces himself and engages in the required minute of polite chit-chat before enacting a hasty retreat.

“Oh, thank goodness!” Gavin exclaims once they’re finally out of ear-shot, “I thought you’d never come.”

Michael just grins at him and hauls him closer to the exit. “I figured it was high time to bail. You know how stuffy these kinds of parties get.”

Gavin makes a grateful noise as they stumble out into the street and they both take several moments to just breath in the soot-soaked, faintly greasy air that swirls in lazy currents around them.

By the time Michael has stopped feeling the phantom chill of the AC, Gavin is hailing them a cab. He steps up beside his assistant, peering down the street in search of a tell-tale flash of yellow.

“Does Trevor still owe you that favour from Easter?” Michael asks, watching in amusement as Gavin begins to jump up and down and wave furiously at the taxi trundling slowly through traffic towards him.

“Yeah…” He answers distractedly, clucking like a proud hen when the cab pulls roughly into the curb. “Why are you asking?”

They both duck their heads as they slide into the vehicle, Gavin leaning forward to point the driver in direction of Hoboken before he slumps back and gives Michael an enquiring glance.

“You look guilty. Why do you look guilty?”

Michael yanks at his tie restlessly and looks out the window, watching as the warm light and perpetual hub-bub of Midtown rushes past. “I need to swap out the Oxley case with him…may have told Ryan I was no longer attorney of record on the case.” He speaks into the window and watches intently as the fog of his breath flares out over the glass before fading quickly away.

Gavin gives an annoyed-sounding grunt and shifts slightly next to him but doesn’t push or pry any further. Michael turns around to show him a grateful smile but flicks his gaze quickly back out the window once he spots the pity that’s glittering in his assistant’s dark eyes.

“I don’t want your fucking pity Gavin.” He grumbles, eyelids flickering tiredly as the train of glass and steel outside begins to morph into crumbling brick and rusty fire escapes.

Gavin, for his part, gives a knowing hum and taps Michael lightly on the shoulder before turning back to the email he’s drafting for Trevor’s secretary.

 

*

 

The knock at his door comes sometime after midnight.

Michael doesn’t get up straight away; just continues to stare at his empty beer bottle, gaze unfocused.

The sharp rap happens again, and Michael drags himself to his feet with a groan, staggering over to the door with one hand pressed against his lower back. He opens it without ceremony, already well aware of who awaits behind.

He still can’t help but jump when he sees Ryan leaning so casually against the door jamb.

“Evening.” Ryan purrs as he sweeps into the apartment, eyes glittering in the dim lamp-light as he appraises Michael.

Michael can’t help but be reminded of another time – so similar and yet so different. It had been a crappier apartment; peeling paint, piles of textbooks and greasy pizza boxes. It’s the same Ryan though – confident and presumptuous and _intoxicating_ – grinning at him from where he’s sprawled himself on the couch.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Michael spits, wrenching the door back open and glaring hard at a place behind Ryan’s head.

Ryan’s expression softens and he stands up slowly, walking cautiously over to Michael like he’s an animal that’s easily spooked.

He reaches out for him but Michael wrenches himself away. “Don’t you even think about it asshole! I told you to get the fuck out!”

Ryan hesitates before trying again, slower this time, gentler as he wraps his fingers around Michael’s wrist. The other reaches up to grab his chin, raising his head so he can meet Ryan’s gaze.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, face shining with such sincerity as he looks down that Michael can’t help but fall into him. Arms wrap around his waist; a hand rises up to blanket his nape and lips brush by his temple.

Michael sighs, slumping further into Ryan’s chest and shivering slightly when he breathes in the scent of familiar cologne. He knows it’s an act, that Ryan wants him only for an hour or two; until his sense of nostalgia dries up and he finds some long-legged brunette to chase after. Michael knows that come the morning, the other side of his bed will have gone long-cold.

But Michael has never claimed to be a strong man.

He tilts his head up and presses his lips to Ryan’s throat, ignoring the bitter taste of after-shave in favour of coaxing more huffs and hitched breaths out of the older man.

Ryan pulls back so he can capture Michael in a kiss; lips hungry and demanding and his tongue sweeping in to claim Michael’s mouth as his own. A groan slips free from Michael, knees buckling when Ryan’s hands slip down to grip at his ass.

Michael has his eyes closed, mouth slack and throat bared as he just lets Ryan _take_. The older man is spinning them a moment later, a powerful forearm wrapped around his waist and the other pulling gently at his hair.

There’s a muffled thump as Ryan lands on the couch, knees spread open and Michael falling between them. Michael barely registers the crack of his shins as he lands on the floor-boards; too busy leaning into the hand that’s now gripping the back of his head. Ryan’s drawing him closer, his free hand unbuckling his belt and pulling down his fine-tailored slacks.

And _oh_ , has Michael been here before – with Ryan’s dark eyes glittering down at him, their laboured breaths falling heavy in the air. Michael’s too far gone to laugh at the soft-lilac tint of Ryan’s boxers as he pulls the suit pants further down those strong thighs.

Michael tries not to think of the other times. Refuses to acknowledge all the promises he’s made himself while slumped alone in his bed the morning after. _Never again_ he’d tell himself with grit teeth and stinging eyes, _he takes what he wants and leaves._

 _I don’t need him. I don’t want him_.

Ryan cradles Michael’s head, pulling him closer to his groin. There’s a tender smile playing at his lips, a softness in his eyes that’s rarely ever there. “Baby,” he breathes, prompting a jolt in Michael’s heart, “You look so pretty down there.”

 _Fuck it_ , Michael thinks, reaching to pull the boxers down as well.

Maybe, just for tonight, it might be worth it.

 

*

 

Ryan doesn’t even wait until the morning to leave.

Michael is still struggling to get his breath back; that warm glow of satisfaction thrumming through his veins.

The other man is already rolling off the bed, shaking the creases out his slacks before carefully stepping into them. Michael stills, holding his breath while he watches Ryan silently dress himself.

There’s a pain in his chest that he’ll attribute to heart burn in the morning, an all too familiar sting of rejection bringing heat to his cheeks and eyes.

Ryan’s at the door now, gazing at Michael with a complicated expression on his face. There’s a hesitation there for a moment, as if he might be considering ripping his clothes back off and falling back into bed.

It’s gone all too quick and Ryan’s turning on his heel and closing the apartment door with a quiet click.

Michael stares into the gloom for a moment, ignoring the monologue of _you fucking idiot, you fucking moron piece of shit_ that’s playing through his head.

He rolls over and shoves his face into a pillow. A pillow that’s still warm and doesn’t smell like him.

 

**

 

Michael’s working late. Shoulders cramping from the hunched position he holds over his desk and eyes beginning to twitch from the sheer amount of caffeine he’s ingested in the last six hours.

There’s a comforting background noise of distant sirens and car horns that filters up to his eighth-floor office and from the one window in the room he can spot a pulse of blue and red moving four or so blocks over.

When the words on the document he’s currently reading all blur into a jumbled mess he hisses out a frustrated sigh and lurches back in his seat. There’s a sharp clatter as he throws his glasses at his desk but there’s no one left in the office to hear it.

Michael rubs a hand over his stinging eyes, head swimming with statements and legalese that no longer make any sense to him.

He feels perilously close to crying all of sudden and he leans forward to put his head on the desk on the off chance that a member of the cleaning staff should walk by and catch him mid-breakdown.

The past several weeks had been ridiculous for Michael; ever since he’d swapped the Oxley case really. His days were busy and chaotic; nights so lonely and exhausting that he’d begun to develop permanent little bruises under his eyes.

His home and office were a mess, both filled with box after box of files and legislation that seemed to offer no help with the windfall of unwinnable cases he’s been given.

The longer Michael lies face down on his desk the more he convinces himself he can stay this way forever. He closes his eyes, a few hot tears sliding out and getting caught briefly on his lashes before dropping to the cheap laminate of his desk.

A faint knocking noise eventually reaches his ears, sounding suspiciously like the hesitant tap of knuckles on glass. Michael lifts himself with a grunt, squinting his bleary eyes when he notices a vaguely human-like shape in the doorway.

He scrabbles for his glasses and shoves them back on haphazardly, flinching painfully when everything comes back into sharp focus.

Ryan laughs quietly by the door, watching on in amusement as Michael blinks and shakes his head several times. He takes a few cautious steps further into the office, glancing around curiously as he takes in the towering piles of case files that dominate the majority of the room.

“You always were blind as a bat…” He murmurs, a rare sentimental note tinging his voice.

Michael is glaring by now, a sharp pain knocking at his ribs and his stomach twisting up in knots as he takes in the sight of Ryan standing so easily in the middle of his shabby little office.

“I think you’ve got the wrong building.” Michael gets out stiffly, turning back to the open file on his desk. “I can call security if you need directing out.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything in response, just regards him quietly with an unreadable expression.

The only noise for several minutes is the shuffling of papers as Michael works his way through the current pile on his desk; the brush of a highlighter as he underlines witness statements; the steady increase of his breath as Michael finds it harder and harder to deal with Ryan’s presence.

“What do you want from me?” He asks eventually, sounding every bit as hollow and resigned as he feels within.

Ryan stops considering him long enough to walk around the desk and pull the carboard cover closed over the file Michael’s staring a fraction too hard at.

“You look exhausted.” Ryan notes as he eases Michael’s chair from it’s wedged position under his desk and spins the younger man around to face him directly. “…you should eat and get some sleep.”

Ryan’s looking up at him with such genuine concern, eyes wide and shining with worry as he tracks the creases and shadows that decorate Michael’s face. It’s so incongruous with the image of Ryan that Michael’s built over the past few years - that Ryan’s _let him_ build – and Michael feels like he might be sick.

“Ryan.” He chokes out quietly, trying to spin his chair away and stand but giving up quickly when Ryan holds fast. “Ryan, stop please. You can’t – you can’t keep doing this to me.”

Ryan’s eyes darken quickly with guilt and he drops his gaze, biting his bottom lip like he used to do when he didn’t know what to say.

“I hadn’t seen you in a while. Not around court, not at work functions and I thought you might have transferred to a different district.”

Ryan ignores the whispered “why would you care” that Michael forces out of his rapidly closing throat and reaches out to put a shaking hand on Michael’s thigh.

“I ran into your assistant today. That lanky, British one that has a hairstyle like a cockatoo?”

He squeezes Michael’s leg briefly when the younger man huffs out a laugh.

“He told me you’ve been through hell these past two months and that he didn’t really know much about me but he thought he knew enough to think I might be able to convince you to eat more than once a week and sleep more than ten minutes at a time.”

“I could fucking kill him, the nosy prick.” Michael grumbles, pushing Ryan’s hands off him when he begins to grip too tightly.

“Well, he was wrong. On both accounts. I’m perfectly fine managing my own health and I certainly don’t need the likes of you barging in to remind me how fucking _hopeless_ my life is and how much better off you are compared to me.”

Ryan looks vaguely hurt at that, leaning back on his heels and dropping his eyes so he doesn’t have to meet Michael’s furious glare.

Eventually he says, “If this is about the party…and after the party, I’m sorry -”

Michael cuts him with a loud scoff and rises from his chair. “Don’t fucking kid yourself.” He spits behind his shoulder, where he knows Ryan is still crouching on his threadbare carpet. “I can’t expect anything less from you at this point.”

He paces the length of the window - which happens to be the only free stretch of walking space left in the office – and resists the urge to turn around and slap Ryan across the face.

“You can’t expect me to believe this soft-faced, doe-eyed act you’ve got going on here when all you’ve ever done is fuck me over.” He pauses, resting a hand on the dusty window sill and closing his eyes. “Correction. All you’ve ever done is fuck me like the cheap piece of college ass I was.”

“That’s not what it was.” Ryan protests weakly, still watching him from the floor.

“Not what it was!” Michael exclaims, waving his arms around and throwing Ryan an incredulous look. “What the fuck else do you call a teaching assistant who screws a struggling first year in exchange for free tutoring sessions? I’m pretty sure I know when I’m someone’s fucking booty call Ryan.”

Ryan looks affronted now, rising to his feet so he can tower over Michael. “I was joking about the tutoring sessions Michael. I just wanted to help you, I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Well congratu-fucking-lations!” Michael yells, effectively silencing whatever insincere ramble Ryan was about to embark on. “You made me feel like shit. You _left me_ to go off to your fancy job in New York and never looked back.” Michael ignores the fact that his voice cracked on the ‘ _me_ ’ and plows onward. “And when I finally get out of law school and follow you all the way to New York you act like you can’t stand the sight of me, like you can’t believe you ever had anything to do with the poor scholarship kid from Jersey.”

Ryan’s looking at him with wide eyes now, hands shoved deep in his pockets and teeth driving into his bottom lip so hard it’s begun to bleed.

“The only time.” Michael turns back to the window, choosing the mess of headlights and sleek car roofs below in favour of Ryan’s stricken face behind him. “The only time you’ve shown me a shred of kindness since then is when you briefly remember how good a lay I was back then and start trying to get back in my pants.”

He presses his forehead against the glass and lets the sharp chill of October air leech the warmth from his skin.

“Michael…” Ryan’s voice is gravelly, and Michael can hear the soft ruffle of expensive fabric as he draws near. There’s a solid weight against his back, the sharp points of hip bones pressing against his own as Ryan slumps against him.

The spice of his cologne; the warmth leaking through several layers of clothes; the soft, panting breath against his neck is all so achingly familiar, and Michael had long ago resigned it to be nothing but a phantom memory. He wants to sob and turn his face into Ryan’s chest. He wants to feel those long fingers brushing through his hair - even though his boyish curls from college have long ago been cut off. Michael aches for a time when he was young and terrified to think that he’d never make it through law school. When Ryan was confident enough for the both of them and kind enough to stay up in the library with him half the night.

Michael doesn’t move and neither does Ryan, both staying pressed against the window so they’re close enough to breath in each other’s scents…close enough to hear all the words they leave unspoken.

Eventually, Ryan begins to card a hand through Michael’s hair; nose pressed into the skin behind his ear. There’s a faint brush of lips against his neck and Ryan might be mouthing something – an _I’m sorry_ or a _please, please forgive me_ – but Michael’s too tired to care.

He leans further into Ryan’s chest; comforted by the slight rise and fall of his lungs as he breathes, lulled by the soft brush of stubble against his back and neck.

In time, they will have to stop whatever this is and pull apart - look each other in the eyes and acknowledge that this was nothing but a stolen moment from the past.

In time, Ryan’s lingering heat will leak away, leaving Michael cold and shivery and alone in the stale warmth of his office.

Michael knows this tiny reprieve will very soon come to an end, but he can’t do anything other than turn, bury his face in Ryan’s neck and try to convince himself he’s 22 again.

 

**

 

Michael’s stepping out of court, spirits high after a sentencing hearing, when he sees Ryan again.

He’s laughing with Gavin, reaching to thumb off the blob of ketchup that had been on the Brit’s nose throughout the entire court session. They’re both wiping tears from their eyes as they stumble down the steps, ignoring the disgruntled looks of other lawyers and court attendees.

“And to think-” Gavin chokes out, still scrubbing heavily at the tip of his nose, “I thought the bailiff was looking at me so weirdly because he was into me.”

Michael cackles at that, the image of Gavin with the portly, balding man almost sending him to his knees.

With the warm winter’s sun on his back and the Brit’s giggles in his ears, memories of previous stressful weeks and the latest late-night _Haywood Incident_ couldn’t be further from his mind.

At least they weren’t until Michael spots said man leaning casually against a sleek, black Lexus by the curb.

Gavin’s giggles fade away beside him as he too spots the high-flying attorney, and nudges heavily at Michael’s side. Michael’s too busy glaring at Ryan to respond to Gavin’s insistent shoves and he dumps a load of files into his assistant’s arms without looking away.

“I’ll meet you back at the office.” He murmurs, leaving Gavin spluttering on the steps of the courthouse as he stalks his way over to Ryan.

“Bailing another rich boy out of drug charges, are we?” He asks when he gets close enough, ignoring the fact that Ryan is holding two takeaway boxes of pepperoni pizza. Even from a metre away Michael can see the glint of grease and melted cheese that’s pooling in all four corners of the containers; its enough to make his mouth water.

“No.” Ryan says, jiggling the pizza slices sheepishly as he chances a glance at Michael. “I thought we could have lunch in the park.”

Michael momentarily trades out his new and improved _death glare from hell_ for a look of incredulity. “You’re shitting me right?” He huffs out a laugh, this one infinitely more hollow than the one he shared with Gavin minutes earlier. “Is this some kind of call-back to your college-day pranks?”

Ryan is looking more and more uncomfortable by the second as he shifts from foot to foot and shrinks down into his suit jacket. Michael welcomes the sense of vindication that blooms in him; it was good to finally catch the other man so off-balance.

“…No?” Ryan eventually answers, worrying his bottom lip between perfectly white teeth as he gives the pizza boxes another vague shake. “I just thought…”

“You thought what?” Michael cuts in, squaring his shoulders as he glares up at the blond. “You thought that some existential midnight bullshit and a few lunch-dates might mend my broken heart and get you a regular fuck-buddy again?”

Michael sneers at the look of panic on Ryan’s face, pleased that he had clearly derailed Ryan’s plans for this conversation. “You must be really off your game Haywood if you have to resort to wooing me.”

“It’s not like that!” Ryan snaps, reaching to shove a stray curl from his face. His blue eyes have hardened, and an angry flush is flowering at the base of his throat. “I’m trying to say sorry for…for things I’ve done recently, and I know a peace-offering of pizza hasn’t ever gone astray with you…”

“This isn’t college Ryan!” Michael fights the urge to pull at his hair, shoving his hands into his suit pockets to avoid the temptation. “You can’t fucking solve your problems with pizza and simple ‘I’m sorry’s’…If you really wanna get your dick wet just go to a bar and flutter those baby blues of yours.” He clenches his jaw when he spots the stray flash of hurt that is shining through Ryan’s carefully neutral expression. “Whatever you do, just leave me the fuck alone.”

He spins around, baring his teeth at the pedestrians that are throwing them curious glances. “I really just wanted to say sorry.” Ryan mumbles, fingers clenching at the takeaway containers so tightly that the cheap plastic begins to crack.

Michael turns around slowly, giving Ryan a lingering look. He tries to memorise the broad line of his shoulders in that magnificent suit; the liquid gold glow of his hair in the morning sun; the softness in his face and eyes, hidden from most everyone but not Michael…never Michael. He memorises all he can before looking Ryan dead in the eye and speaking firmly: “You can take that apology and fuck off back to the Upper East Side. Don’t try and contact me again.”

Michael turns and calmly makes his way back down the street, towards the DA’s office. He doesn’t turn back; he fights the urge to look over his shoulder and check if Ryan’s still there with all he has. Fights the urge to see if he looks as heartbroken as Michael feels.

He knows he won’t.

When he looks back the Lexus is gone; melted away into the vast sea of midday traffic.

 

**

 

To Michael’s surprise, Ryan abides by his request without complaint.

Thanksgiving and Christmas fly on by without the customary midnight appearance or suggestive texts from the older man. Maybe he’d finally built up the courage to fly back home to Georgia and smooth things over with his parents. Or maybe he’d found another warm body to spend the lonely holiday season with.

Michael doesn’t have too much time to dwell on it; too bogged down by the spike in home invasions and drug crimes that were characteristic of the holiday period. Long days and even longer nights spent building cases and arguments and evidence left Michael with little time for anything other than work.

It was almost February before he managed to find time to drag himself to a bar and waste away the night with too much beer and too little food.

Gavin had left almost as soon as the basketball game had started, sputtering out complaints about noisy Americans and the benefits of “watching a real sport” from the comfort of his own home. Three beers later and Michael has forgotten that Gavin was even there in the first place.

“So…” He slurs out as he slumps down beside Patrick, another of the assistant district attorneys, “How much to swap my drug possession case for your public indecency one? I swear if the cops catch another trust-fund kid selling party drugs in Manhattan, I might go ahead and switch to environmental law.”

Patrick throws his head back and laughs and Michael is drunk enough to stare at the line of his jaw and tan stretch of skin over his throat without shame. Stormy greys eyes are alight with mirth when Patrick looks over at him, darkening when they catch his unabashed staring.

“I’ll consider swapping if you let me buy you your next drink.” A hand settles high on his thigh and Patrick looks him up and down appraisingly. Michael swallows thickly while he looks unashamedly back - taking in the thick mop of dark hair, long, sweeping lashes and shadow of well-kept stubble. He looked good. He looked like a distraction.

Michael blushes as he glances down at the hand creeping up his leg, looking up through fluttering lashes when he finally manages to meet Patrick’s darkened gaze. “Make it a soda.” He says lowly, smirking when Patrick’s pupils blow out even further, “Wouldn’t want me to lose my head now, would we?”

Patrick just grins at him before standing up and sauntering over to the bar. Michael traces the bulge of his arms and the taper of his waist in the designer suit – public service couldn’t break all of his corporate law habits – and resolutely refuses to think about the only other person who’d look better in Hugo Boss than Patrick would.

 

*

 

It’s past midnight when they finally stumble out of the bar with cheeks heavily flushed and Patrick’s arms wound loosely around Michael’s waist. There’s a lull in the traffic; no taxis in sight as they scan the brightly lit boulevard.

“Well then…” Patrick says with a mock sigh, turning to face Michael with his signature grin, “What to do while we wait?” They just stare at each other for several moments; the tension ratcheting higher and higher as the smells and sounds of East Village wash over them.

Patrick leans forward first, mouthing over Michael’s chin and neck before taking his lips in a kiss. For his part, Michael gasps and falls forward into the other man’s chest, not protesting when he feels himself pushed back and shoved roughly against a brick wall.

He closes his eyes, sinking into the sensations and letting Patrick take the lead. The other man kisses like it’s a competition; aggressive and just this side of too rough as his teeth catch sharply on Michael’s bottom lip. There are hands groping at his sides, his ass – nails digging in with the intention to mark and bruise.

A sour note tinges deep in Michael’s belly, a vague sense of unease coiling up through his chest. It felt wrong, the lips too dry and the grabbing hands too harsh. There was no breathless words of praise or gentle fingers in his hair; just suffocating contact and rough brick behind his back. Dark eyes, ravenous rather than reverent, glare down at him briefly when Michael pushes Patrick away.

“Patrick…” Michael groans out in discomfort when a hand grips too tightly at the back of his thigh. The other man growls in response and shoves him against the wall again, mouth descending to suck a hickey into his neck.

“Patrick stop it!” Michael snaps, pushing the other many away with enough force to send him stumbling. They’re both breathing heavily, chests rising rapidly and breath coming out in thick plumes of fog in the January night air.

Michael wraps his arms around himself, shivering as the heat of the moment drains away. “I think I’m going to go home by myself.” He says firmly, watching Patrick warily when the man jerks as if to grab at him again. “I think you should too.”

Patrick looks confused for a moment, face shrouded in the shadows cast by the streetlight next to them. His brows furrow slightly and fists clench by his side before his upper lip rises in a sneer.

“Oh for fucks sake.” He spits, lifting a hand to fix the rumpled collar of his suit jacket. “I wouldn’t have wasted my time if I knew you were gonna be such a cock-tease.”

Michael feels his face shutter over and he clenches his own fists inside the pockets of his pants. “I’m sorry that you feel that way.” He gets out calmly, even though he can feel himself start to shake with anger, “But I didn’t promise you anything and I don’t feel like doing anything at the moment other than going home and falling sleep.”

“Oh please.” Patrick scowls at him, pacing the length of sidewalk as he throws his hand up for a cab. “You were acting like a slut the whole night until you went ahead and got cold feet.”

“ _Hey!_ ”

A furious shout from behind them interrupts Michael’s response and they both turn to find a sharply dressed man stalking towards them. Michael would like to think the warmth pooling in his stomach wasn’t relief, but over the past couple of months he’s gotten out of the practice of lying to himself while Ryan is around.

Ryan storms straight up to Patrick and looms over him, pulling his shoulders back and glaring his hardest at the shorter man.

“What the fuck do you want man?” Patrick growls out, doing his own posturing in return. Ryan’s eyes blaze for a moment, and his fists clench so tight Michal is afraid the skin around his knuckles will split.

“That’s no way to speak to someone.” Ryan says lowly, taking a step back so he and Patrick are no longer chest to chest. “When someone says no you accept it and get the fuck over yourself.”

Patrick rolls his eyes and steps over to the curb as a taxi finally comes ripping around the corner. “Yeah whatever man.” He says with a shrug of his shoulders, “You can have him. Now I’m sobering up he doesn’t seem that good-looking anymore.”

There’s a snarl rippling through Ryan’s throat and everything about his body language screams _try me_ , but Patrick only throws them both another disdainful glance before ducking into the cab and slamming the door.

As soon as the car has peeled away from the curb Ryan drops his shoulders and turns to face Michael, concern and protectiveness shown openly on his face.

“Did he hurt you?” He asks quietly, eyes darting between the small amount of blood on Michael’s lips and the bruise blooming on his neck.

“Not really. He was just a little rough.” Michael inhales sharply when Ryan pulls out a handkerchief and dabs gently at the slight split in his lip. He regains the ability to breath and talk when the warmth of the older man pulls away. “I had a handle on it, you didn’t need to chase him off.”

“I know you did.” Ryan gives him a slight smile, stuffing the stained handkerchief back inside his pocket. “I just couldn’t stand to hear him talk to you in that way.”

Michael chooses not to respond to that, just stares openly at Ryan’s face and ignores the aching sense of _home_ that is welling up inside of him.

“So tell me.” He says finally, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ryan as they face the street. “How on earth did you manage to find me in my moment of need? You stalking me or something spiderman?”

Ryan snorts at that, hunching his shoulders against the biting breeze that swirls around them. “Nah.” He answers easily, grinning softly down at Michael in a way that most definitely doesn’t make the younger’s heart skip a beat. “I was actually walking back to the office after grabbing a bite to eat. Running into Mary-Jane was purely a coincidence.”

Michael shoves at his shoulder in mock irritation and Ryan lets out a little chuckle as he pretends to stumble. For a moment Michael forgets about his resolution to never speak to the man again.

“How have you been?” He asks, swaying involuntarily closer to the other’s intoxicating warmth.

Ryan’s eyes crinkle as his smile deepens and he leans closer to Michael. “I’ve been okay.” He answers honestly, “Lonely. Insanely busy - living off take-out and five hours of sleep. The usual, you know.”

Michael nods in understanding, certain that the slight shadows under Ryan’s eyes are mirrored by his own. “Yeah, I know all about it.”

Ryan looks at him for a moment longer before lifting his hand and slowly cupping Michael’s cheek. Michael’s trapped by his eyes, impossibly wide and crystal clear as they stare straight into Michael’s soul.

“You look wonderful.” Ryan breathes out, dropping his hand a moment later and turning to hail for a cab. Michael’s stuck trying to process the searing heat and softness of Ryan’s palm to realise that the older man has called a taxi over and is paying for the driver to take Michael to his address in Hoboken.

Ryan takes him gently by the arm and ushers him into the cab. Michael looks up at him in silence when he leans into the back of the car for a second. He’s chewing his lip and fiddling nervously with his top button while refusing to meet Michael’s gaze.

Eventually, he utters a “stay safe Michael” before closing the door softly and retreating to the sidewalk to watch as the cab pulls away.

 

**

 

Michael storms out of the elevators without even acknowledging reception. He’s got his face set in a deep scowl, so the interns know not to bother him and he’s sure his stomping footsteps can be heard five floors down.

Gavin barely looks up when he stalks into the office, too focused on straightening his calendar on the wall to notice Michael is _really_ not in the mood to talk.

“How was the pre-trial hearing?” He asks cheerfully, tongue sticking out as he checks the level of the calendar with a ruler.

“Fuck off.” Michael answers - quite appropriately he thinks – as he slams his bag down on the desk with enough force to knock Gavin’s calendar from the hook and onto the ground.

Gavin gives a little huff as he bends down to pick it up again, looking over at Michael for the first time and blanching when he spots the deep red flush that decorates the prosecutor’s face.

“I’ll assume he decided to plead not-guilty then.”

Michael shoots him a venomous look before gesturing petulantly at the flowers on his desk. “The fuck is this? I thought I told to stop trying to decorate my shit.”

Gavin perks up at the mention of the bunch of orange and red gerberas that sit on Michael’s desk. He abandons the calendar where it lies crumpled on the ground and bounds over to show Michael the card that came with it.

“But I didn’t put them there Michael!” He exclaims, shoving the small piece of cardboard at the other man, “It came with this!”

Michael squints at the neat, flowing script, pretending for a moment that he doesn’t instantly recognise the handwriting.

_To Mary-Jane,_

_With love,_

_Spiderman_.

Gavin’s practically vibrating beside him, bouncing on the heels of his feet as he leans over to read what that card says for himself.

“ _From Spiderman_?” He screws up his nose in confusion, reaching up to fiddle with the bright petals that peek out of the bouquet until Michael slaps his hand away.

“Who’s your spiderman Micoo?”

Michael tries to send Gavin a baleful look, but his stomach’s fluttering too much for it to have any real effect. “None of your fucking business Grabby, that’s who.” He grumbles, unable to hide his grin as Gavin grabs at his shoulder and shakes.

“But Michael you’ve gone and got yourself a secret admirer, Michael.” Gavin lets him go to start dancing around the small office room, wondering aloud about who it could possibly be.

“Okay! Okay shut up!” Michael yells out whilst trying to stifle a laugh.

“Sit down and get back to work before I fire your bony ass.”

Gavin takes his seat quietly, only to resume his excitable bounces and babbling. Michael rolls his eyes and pulls a thick folder from his messenger bag, putting his head down and pretending to work.

He makes sure Gavin isn’t looking before he reaches out to move the flowers into a sunnier spot. He takes the note card and props it up by his computer screen, pretending that the words have nothing to do with his flaming cheeks.

 

**

 

Over the following weeks a few more random gifts show up on Michael’s desk. A box of fresh pizza one day, the new copy of Crash Bandicoot another. And waiting with every one of them was an over-the-moon Gavin who was treating each new present like a vital clue in his comprehensive investigation into Michael’s love life.

“Is it actually Andrew Garfield?” Gavin asks when Michael walks into the office on a crisp Monday morning. There’s a box of fresh kolaches sitting on his desk, along with a single red gerbera – a motif that accompanied every gift.

“Excuse me?” Michael asks, once he’s dumped his bag and stuffed a full kolache in his face. Gavin lets out a large gag as bits of pastry go flying everywhere.

“Are you dating Andrew Garfield?” Gavin repeats, looking down to flick crumbs of his collar and suit lapels.

“No.” Michael forces out, swallowing the pastry almost whole, “I’m not dating anyone. And if I was it’d be Tobey Maguire…you remember the dancing scene in Spiderman three.” Michael pretends to swoon over his desk.

Gavin giggles a little at that before reaching over and stealing a kolache for himself, munching happily as he gives Michael a considering look. “Why won’t you tell me who you’re dating?” Gavin asks when he swallows his mouthful.

“I’m not dating anyone.” Michael answers automatically, ignoring the Brit’s huge puppy dog eyes.

It was the truth. Despite the current gift-giving spree, Michael hadn’t actually seen Ryan since he’d put him in the cab that night. He had learnt to be a pessimist when it came to all things concerning Ryan Haywood and he refused to waste his time wondering about the older man’s intentions.

Gavin continues to pout at him before pulling an envelope off his desk. “Well if you’re _not dating anyone,_ how come they invited you to annual MET party?”

Michael snatches the envelope out of the Brit’s hands and tears it open to find a single admission ticket inside. “Gavin what the fuck, you opened my mail? That’s a federal offence!” Even Gavin can tell the irritation in his voice is insincere as he stares, shocked, down at the invite.

“Well, are you going to go?” Gavin’s wheeled his chair over to Michael’s desk so he can inspect the invite for himself. He’s started bouncing again, one hand sneaking around to steal another kolache from the box.

Michael snags another pastry for himself and gives the stark white envelope a considering look.

“I guess so.” He says, taking care not to spray Gavin with crumbs again, “It’s not every day Tobey Maguire asks you to the MET now is it?”

 

**

 

“I can’t believe you got an invite.”

Michael sidles over to the bar beside Jeremy, shifting awkwardly in his tux as Jeremy gives him an exaggerated once-over.

“And how the fuck did you get an invite?” Michael greets in return, plucking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter as he turns to face the room next to Jeremy.

The MET function hall is lit by soft-tinged lights, which reflect off intricate ropes of gold and silver that twine up marble pillars and hang in graceful loops from the vaulted ceiling. Everything in the place presents an air of glittering opulence and soft elegance and the people that fill it are just as rich and exotic. Michael couldn’t have felt more out of place.

“Kat knows one of the curators, we get an invite every year.” Jeremy takes a sip of his own champagne and gestures at a small woman dressed in a breath-taking silver gown a few feet away. “I think they went to university together or something.”

Michael nods absently and reaches around Jeremy’s shoulder to snag a miniature beef-wellington from a platter. “I just can’t quite believe that there’s two people from the district attorney’s office at the fucking MET party.”

Jeremy guffaws when an elderly woman nearby gives them an affronted look and moves off with a huff. “Yeah, I’d say we’re blending in perfectly.”

With Jeremy’s company, Michael forgets for the moment about Ryan’s missing presence or how misplaced he feels among New York’s upper class. The other man must still sense his discomfort and he takes his arm to tour him around the outer edges of the function hall, making pompous remarks about the artworks the museum has dragged out for the party.

“And look at the starkness of that magenta!” Jeremy exclaims in a faux-British accent, “It really represents the dominance of err…capitalism over culture in our society.”

Michael nods seriously beside him and tightens his arm over where Jeremy’s is still clasped at his side. “I concur wholeheartedly darling.”

Jeremy is just on the verge of breaking down into giggles when someone clears their throat behind them. “I hope I’m not interrupting gentleman.”

Michael drops Jeremy’s arm like it’s burned him as he whirls around to face Ryan. The older man is looking resplendent in his tailored tuxedo; bow tie perfectly knotted at the base of his throat and silver cuff-links glittering tastefully at his wrists.

“Ryan…” Michael breathes out, reaching to fiddle self-consciously with his own crooked bow tie.

Ryan’s not paying attention to Michael for the moment, and he looks like he’s attempting to melt Jeremy with a simple glare. There’s a cold fury in his eyes, quickly replaced by a hot flash of jealousy when Jeremy moves to clap Michael on the shoulder.

“Who’s your friend Michael?” He asks a little too innocently. Michael suspects he and Gavin may have recently been in contact.

While Michael stumbles over his words Ryan steps forward and holds his hand out to shake. “Ryan Haywood” he says, eyeing Jeremy coolly, “I work for Latham and Watkins on fifth, mergers and acquisitions.”

“A closer.” Jeremy remarks, turning to raise an eyebrow at Michael, “Some might argue that’s a step up from Tobey Maguire.”

Michael attempts to throw a surreptitious glare at him, but Jeremy looks completely unfazed. Gavin was confirmed dead as soon as he walked into the office on Monday morning.

Ryan looks quickly between them, his brow furrowed in confusion. “I’m afraid I’ve missed the joke.” The undercurrent of annoyance in his voice is clearly evident.

“Oh just office banter, don’t you worry about it Haywood.” Jeremy says breezily, lips twitching in a slight grin when Ryan lets out an audible huff of irritation. “You see me and Michael work together; assistant district attorneys in the Manhattan office.”

“How nice.” Ryan says through grit teeth, the grip on his champagne glass alarmingly tight.

“…Well.” Jeremy lets out a light sigh and clasps his hands in front of him, “This really has been a great chat but it appears my wife is waiting for me. See you on Monday Michael. Do take care now Ryan.” He throws them both a knowing smile before sauntering over to the bar, where Kat stands waiting for him.

“…his wife.” Ryan says slowly, the tightness in his face slowly relaxing as he watches the pair hold hands and hurry to the dance floor. “He wasn’t your date then?”

“No…” Michael giggles, breath hitching when Ryan steps close enough to reach out and touch him. “He was just fucking with you…and me. Why would I have a date when you…”

“When I what?” Ryan murmurs, brushing a hand up Michael’s arm and along his shoulder. Dark eyes stare down at him and Michael feels his throat begin to tighten.

“When you invited me.” Michael lets out quietly, not resisting when Ryan takes his wrist and gently begins to lead him away from the noise and stifling heat of the main party. “I thought you invited me here as your date.”

“I did.” Ryan answers quickly, looping his arm loosely through Michael’s and pulling him into an empty gallery. “Did you like the gifts?”

Michael hums an affirmative, craning his neck up to look at the massive renaissance paintings that dominate the room. “Enough to come here tonight.”

Ryan grips at Michael’s wrist until he’s turned around to face him, eyes soft and expression unguarded in the dim light of the gallery. “You have to know that I’m sorry…for all of it. I’ve been the biggest asshole mankind has ever seen.”

Michael raises his eyebrow and nods, shoulders jolting up when fingers dig into the ticklish points at his sides. Ryan looms closer, eyes flickering down to his lips as thumbs come up to brush at his jaw and cheeks.

They fall into a kiss like it’s easy, likes it’s something they’ve been doing for years. In a way, Michael supposes, they have, and he smiles into it as Ryan pushes him gently against the cold concrete of the gallery wall.

Ironically, the familiarity of it is what eventually makes him pause. It felt like every other time, and every other time ended with Michael alone; a cold bed and an empty heart.

Ryan must sense his hesitation and he pulls away with a soft breath. The hand cradling the back of his head slides around to cup his face, thumb tapping gently against kiss-reddened lips. “What’s wrong?” He whispers, forehead blazing as he rests it against Michael’s own.

“What do you want from me?” Michael asks, a faint trembling in his muscles leaves him feeling weak and clammy.

Ryan sighs against his lips, eyes closed and lashes tickling at Michael’s cheeks. “To take you home.” He says with a groan, hands sliding down to grip at his waist. “I need to feel you. You don’t understand how much I’ve missed you.” Michael stiffens in his hold, his frantic breath stopping abruptly.

Ryan loosens his grip in response to the sudden stillness and Michael pulls away, wrapping his arms around himself and walking further into the gallery.

“No.” He says heavily, turning around to catch Ryan watching him with a stricken look. “We can’t do this again. Every time is the same. Don’t you understand? I can’t keep doing this.”

“I know.” Ryan cuts in, stepping forward with a placating hand, “I heard you that night. I don’t want to treat you like a one-night stand, I understand.”

“I don’t think you do!” Michael’s voice has gone up a tone, and he swallows thickly against the rising hysteria. “I want someone who’s not ashamed of me. Who wants me for everything I am, who needs me as much as I need them.” Ryan’s still stepping closer, a concerned look on his face and Michael realises he must appear as if he’s very close to losing it.

“I want to wake up with someone in the morning, read the paper, eat breakfast together. I want to come home and complain about the traffic, watch Netflix, stick my feet in their lap. You don’t _get it_!” He cries out, and _that_ stops Ryan in his tracks. Michael lowers his gaze, arms squeezing so tight around his ribcage that he feels himself begin to choke.

“I want someone who loves me as much as I love them.”

When Michael finds the courage to look up Ryan is staring at the ground with a shell-shocked expression. He’s not saying anything, just taking in shallow, little breaths that make his shoulders rise and fall in minute, jerking movements.

It’s enough to confirm Michaels fear, his expectations. He turns his back on Ryan and starts making his way back to the main hall. He hopes Jeremy has gone home already; he doesn’t think he’d be able to hide the pain that’s thrashing around inside him at the moment.

“May it please the Court.” A wavering voice calls out and Michael freezes by the archway. “My name is Ryan Haywood and I wish to plead guilty.”

Michael turns around, catches Ryan shuffling hesitantly closer. He looks so small in this moment, the sharp lines of his suit doing nothing to hide the insecurity that blankets his every movement.

“Plead guilty?” Michael repeats, starting in surprise when he spots open fear on the older man’s face. Michael thought it was impossible for Ryan Haywood to be afraid.

“Yes. To the worst crime possible.” Ryan breathes, taking those final few steps so he can stand in front of Michael. “I was so terrified by the fact that I fell in love with a boy at first sight. So terrified that I decided the only way to protect myself was to treat him like shit whenever he got too close. So terrified that I didn’t realise I had broken his heart and betrayed his trust several times over.”

Shaking hands cup at his face briefly before Ryan falls to his knees. He presses his forehead against Michael’s thigh, taking in a deep shuddering breath as he wraps weak fingers around the younger’s calves.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me.” Ryan mumbles into the cloth of Michael’s suit pants, “God knows I never would.”

He lifts his head briefly, so Michael can catch a glimpse of shining blue eyes before he drops down and bares the back of his neck. “But I need you to know that I loved you from the first time you opened your mouth in class. I loved you from the beginning and I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to you.”

Michael slumps down to his knees as well and slides his trembling fingers through the thick thatch of hair on the back of Ryan’s head. He presses his lips against the other’s ear and takes in a shaking breath.

“Take me home Rye.” He pleads quietly, humming softly when he feels Ryan’s chest begin to shudder. “Take us home.”

 

*

 

The glittering lights of Manhattan stretch out below him, mapping the city like a man-made constellation.

The view is magnificent, but Michaels finds it hard to take it all in; too distracted by the soft press of Ryan’s hands against his hips, the warmth of his mouth as he drags kisses down his neck.

Ryan pulls them away from the window with a quiet murmur, twisting Michael and pushing gently until he’s sprawled on the bed on his back.

Ryan is looking down at him, the silvery moonlight reflected in his reverent gaze as he reaches down to caress at every inch of Michael’s naked skin.

They press close to each other, gasping in each other’s mouths and wrapping limbs around until there is no space in between.

Ryan moves above him, forehead that’s slick with sweat pressing gently down against Michael’s shoulder. None of this feels familiar. None of this feels like _before_.

But as Michael arches up and Ryan whispers his name softly… it feels like coming _home_.

 

*

 

Everything is blurry when Michael opens his eyes, but he’s too warm and snug to go searching for his glasses.

His nose is buried in a pillow, the linen is soft on his face and smells like spiced body wash and coconut shampoo. When Michael rolls over he finds Ryan asleep beside him, lashes fanned out like spun gold over his cheeks and fluttering in his sleep.

Michael just stares for several minutes, drinking in his fill of pale skin and soft swells of muscle. When he reaches out to tuck a curl behind his ear, Ryan’s eyes blink open and a sleepy smile pulls at his lips.

He reaches for Michael, snagging him around the waist and pulling him in until he’s nestled against his chest. They breath in each other, taking in the rush of traffic below and the faint whistle of wind as it whips around the building.

“So.” Ryan croaks out, brushing his nose through Michael’s hair. “What’s the prosecution’s verdict?”

“Hmmm.” Michael hums, twitching away from the ticklish caresses Ryan is brushing down his waist. “No further questions. The prosecution calls for the full acquittal of the accused.”

Ryan pulls back slightly, brows furrowed in sleepy amusement, “Full acquittal?”

“Well…” Michael drags a hand through the small amount of hair on Ryan’s chest, swirling his thumb around a pec before tracing it up to rest on the older man’s clavicle. “He’ll pay his price in Netflix marathons and fancy dinners…and weekend breakfasts and back rubs and a new set of suits for my birthday. And he’ll help me clean up my apartment and take on some pro-bono cases for me and show me off to all his friends…”

“Mmm.” Ryan presses a finger to Michaels lips and lets a tired grin dimple his cheeks. “Agreed in full. Defence rests.” He lets of a loud yawn, before wrapping an arm tight around Michael’s waist and pulling the duvet over them again.

The slow, steady rise of Ryan’s chest lulls Michael back to the edge of sleep and he can’t help but smile into the older man’s skin as he thinks about waking up to a warm bed and an even warmer embrace every morning.

The jarring buzz of his phone jolts him back awake and he begrudgingly rolls out of Ryan’s arms to snatch his glasses and his phone. It takes several seconds for him to unlock the thing and several more seconds of absent swiping before he manages to find the message.

 ** _Grabby Free_** : _So. Does Tobey Maguire have the penthouse suite or what? P.S Good morning! :)))_

Michael groans and chucks his phone at the bed-side table before he throws himself back under the covers with Ryan.

“Do I want to know?” Ryan asks, moving to once again bury his nose in Michael’s curls.

“Definitely not.” Michael grumbles before he closes his eyes and drifts back to sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> If there were prizes for shit-ass endings and cliche love proclamations I'd totally be winning.
> 
> (but srsly thanks for reading this <3 )


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